


No Son of Mine

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-29
Updated: 2002-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-01 05:26:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/352467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An attempt to work out how Clark must break from his parents. Takes place after story "Apple." Critiques truly welcomed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Son of Mine

## No Son of Mine

by Falada

[]()

* * *

He'd gone into the storm cellar three or four times recently, knowing there were no answers to be had there. He didn't have the questions anyhow. He only knew there were things Lex couldn't teach him, and sometimes he feared he'd never learn them on his own. So, yet again, he pulled the tarp off the little ship and stared at it, like he could somehow make it show him how to be himself. As of course it wouldn't. Couldn't. Little metal capsule like a toy, just big enough to carry Baby Hercules, whatever his name was back then, to safe harbor in a cornfield; that's all it was. 

He didn't notice the footsteps overhead, but the pale sunlight slanting into the cellar was abruptly cut off, and there was Jonathan, backing down the ladder. 

"Clark?" he called over his shoulder. "What are you doing?" 

"I don't know, Dad. I'm sorry. I just wanted to look at it." 

Jonathan reached the dirt floor and turned around. These days he moved a little less lightly, Clark realized. Not much, just enough to be a reminder that he wasn't a young man any more. Frowning, he said, "I told you, your mother and I went over every inch of it years ago. There's nothing there." He put a hand on Clark's shoulder. "Better to let it be, son. Let's cover it up again. I need you to help move the steers to the east lot." But then he paused as they pulled the worn canvas back over the ship, saying, "There's something I guess we may as well talk about while we're down here. Clark, your mother and I -" He hesitated, looked away. 

Clark waited, thinking: here it comes. Stay calm; isn't his fault he doesn't understand. "Uh?" 

Jonathan cleared his throat, and then he hurried the words like he'd memorized them and wanted to finish before he forgot any. "It's in regard to your friendship with Lex Luthor. Son, you seem to think the sun rises and sets by him, but the plain truth is, his interest in you just isn't - fitting. I know it's flattering to have someone like that pay attention to you. Older. The cars, and all. Compared to us, the Luthors live pretty high off the hog. But you have to ask yourself, what does he expect to get out of spending time with me? With you, I mean?" 

"Sure," Clark said. "Why would he so much as pass the time of day with a nobody of a high school kid that isn't even on a team and isn't good for anything much except choring around a farm? 

"Clark!" Jonathan said. "You know that isn't what you are. You're a great kid. You have a real future ahead of you." 

"Okay, so maybe he knows that too? He lends me books and things; maybe he thinks I'm smart? Sees my potential? Maybe I'm even interesting? I mean, to somebody who doesn't really know me." 

"That's not the point." Patches of red were starting out on Jonathan's cheekbones. "What if you let slip something about - this?" He gestured at the ship. "The Luthors aren't our sort, Clark. With them everything's about the almighty dollar. And trust me, they'd see this, and you too, in terms of money. They're the last people we want involved in our lives." 

Clark nearly launched into a protest against the unfairness of blaming Lex for Lionel's misdeeds, but the Lex-voice in his head was saying, in the throwaway tone Lex used for advice,"Maybe you want to focus, babe? Think about what's important?" 

"That doesn't make any sense. I've kept secrets all my life," he said, "I've even kept secrets from my best friends. Now you think I'm going to start blabbing to somebody I hardly even _see_? Don't you trust me more than that?" 

When Clark was a kid, his fibs had been small, and rare, and invariably he was miserable as soon as he uttered them. He was surprised at how much righteous indignation he was mustering up now, considering the folks had no idea about the amount of time he actually did spend with Lex. But he could no more explain why he needed those hours than he could tell Lex about the ship and how it got here. 

Jonathan gave an exasperated sigh. "All right: it's--Clark, it's not natural. His interest in you. You don't know much about this sort of thing, we can't expect you to recognize it, but he's not normal. He's not what a man should be." 

That's his last-ditch argument, Clark thought. He hoped I'd cave before he had to use it. "What do you mean by _that_?" 

"I mean his interest in you is abnormal. Your mother's old roommate says there was talk when he lived in Metropolis. People he associated with. Birds of a feather. Clark, we're afraid he just wants to--" Jonathan floundered for a moment, glaring helplessly. "I'll put this in plain English," he finally said. "He wants to put his pecker--" But he couldn't finish that either. He gave it one more try: "He wants to go up the down staircase. Yours. Do you understand what I'm saying?" 

Clark barely suppressed a bark of laughter. Lex would love that one, he thought, though it would be too disloyal to tell him about it. He drew a steadying breath and his voice came out like someone else's: dignified, grown up. Cold. "Yes. Only, I can't exactly judge what's normal and natural, can I?" 

Reddening even more, Jonathan began, "Well _I_ can, and no son of mine--" 

Clark shot his hand out in warning, palm forward, fingers splayed wide. _Stop_! it said. _Don't_! 

Jonathan broke off. He stared at Clark, looking almost scared. Then, with a nod, he turned back to the ladder, head bowed. 

The other night Clark had sneaked out to meet Lex for a demented test drive of the Rover on gravelled county roads, the kind of stupid, reckless behavior Lex seemed to crave sometimes. Each time they skidded ditchward or tilted onto two wheels, Clark prayed he'd be able to salvage the situation if they wrecked. Finally Lex got whatever it was out of his system, and pulled over on a shoulder, breathing hard. The hand he moved from the shift to Clark's crotch was ungentle. "Yes," he said, "Now." 

Considering that a truckload of kids or a sheriff's deputy or anybody else could come along, parking there was as reckless as the driving had been, but Clark didn't care. 

Afterward, they drowsed off in the back of the car, an awkward, sticky tangle, illuminated by moonbeams wavering through fogged windows, Clark's dogsbody warmth protecting them from the November chill. He woke first, thinking, I could stay like this forever; I could die happy like this, with Lex's face pressed into my shoulder, just the two of us and the moon. A wave of emotion surged over him, unfamiliar and rather frightening, a protective tenderness, a sense that he was older and wiser and he was supposed to keep Lex safe always, not just from ordinary perils of the here and now, but from uncharted worlds of danger somewhere beyond Smallville. But how can I do that, he'd wondered; and tightened his arms around Lex. 

It had been a relief when, a minute or two later, Lex stirred, waking with a snort and a grumble, and began putting them to rights, tsk-tsking about the mess and the unmistakable scent in the still-new car, and mocking his own fussiness. His surrogate mentor, his lover, was back in command. 

Now, Clark looked at Jonathan, almost middle-aged in bib overalls and muddy boots, anger gone, shoulders sagging resignedly. The feeling came back, the feeling of the other night when he was holding Lex, but this time it was clear what needed doing. Jonathan was too stubborn to let up about Lex altogether, but he wouldn't try to force the issue again. Clark couldn't give him back the son he'd never really had, but they could hang onto the illusion a little longer, couldn't they? He took a quick step to catch up with Jonathan, and with the same gesture his father used earlier, put a hand on his shoulder. "Dad, if you're still going to Lucaston Saturday to check out that set of tires for the Deere, can I go too?" 

Jonathan paused, one hand on the ladder. He didn't look back at Clark when he said, "Sure, if you want to. Compared to the cost of new ones, these sound like a deal." 

"Yeah, that's what I figured. Maybe the guy will have some used tractor parts we can pick up too, just in case. The Deere's kind of an antique. You know, a penny saved..." 

Jonathan straightened as he started up the ladder. "Good thinking, son" he said briskly. "Now, let's get to work." 


End file.
